


Doublevision

by Insecuriosity



Series: Kinkmeme fills [7]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: BDSM, Fake rape, M/M, Misperception, Misunderstandings, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Other, Perceived non-con, Rape Roleplay, Sexual Roleplay, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 17:37:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3455927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insecuriosity/pseuds/Insecuriosity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, a Spec Ops agent becomes his character, and the line between reality and act fades away. Jazz keeps a watchful eye on all his agents to ensure they do not fall off the deep end. </p><p>Mirage is sent to check on Jazz, and he finds something he had never expected.... It might not be what he thinks it is though..... </p><p>Loosely (!LOOSELY!) based on this prompt;  http://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/13205.html?thread=14589333#t14589333</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doublevision

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely (LOOSELY LOOSELY) based on this kinkmeme prompt; http://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/13205.html?thread=14589333#t14589333
> 
> Beta'd by Skywinder, also known as Starfire201 on fanfiction.net

When on an undercover mission, all rules went off the table. Mirage knew that better than anyone. It was impossible to expect an agent to uphold the Autobot laws when sitting smack-dab in the middle of an enemy squad. Autobots that entered Spec Ops were taught how to play along, how to punch an ally in the faceplate and laugh at their fear. They were taught how to minimize damage while looking as convincing as possible.

But still, sometimes, the line between acting and reality blurred. 

Mirage knew that Jazz kept track of all the Autobot agents that threatened to fall off the deep end. Having to shoot your friend through the helm, whipping your drinking buddy into stasis- there was only so much a bot could handle before they broke.  
It's a simple matter of code, he had heard Ratchet say, something that's inside of any Cybertronian, a simple urge to avoid pain and damage. And how does one avoid severe emotional damage from having to hurt your friends and comrades? Just start liking it. Just stop thinking of the mech at your feet as a friend, and just enjoy. 

Mirage had seen it happen a few times. Punch, a talented double agent mixing in with the Decepticons for a long term mission. He'd been a loyal Autobot, but his information had gone from a flood to a trickle, and a quick check-up had found him frequently visiting the brigs to beat the slag out of an imprisoned Autobot. He'd been taken off the mission – taken back to the Autobot base for help – only to commit suicide a few weeks after returning. 

Every mech had their breaking point.... and so did Jazz.

Prowl had authorised this mission. Jazz probably knew that he was under surveillance just like the other mechs in Spec Ops, but right now it was very obvious that the TIC had no idea that Mirage was watching him. If he knew, he would not be doing this. 

“Twist, listen, I'm sorry alright?- Please just stop, please let me down-...” The Decepticon panted, and his shoulderjoints made an awful grating sound as he tried to alleviate his stressed limbs. The mech's hands were tangled in thick chains and tied behind his back. He hung suspended in the air, his pedes straining to reach the ground. 

Jazz was barely recognisable. His black and white plating was coloured an ugly brown, and his wheels were a rather unfitting shade of bright energon-blue. His visor glowed red, and it was missing a large chip at the left side. Jazz, or rather his persona 'Twist', just continued prowling around the helpless Decepticon as the mech babbled.

“I don't- I -didn't k-know it was yours! I'd nnn.... I'd never take anything from you...” The Decepticon said. His voice was laced with static, and small drops of energon dripped from the cuts in his lip. He was sporting a shaky smile, and his optics were feverishly bright. 

Jazz just hummed, and stood before the Con. He rubbed an ugly brown thumb over the con's lower lip, and the mech looked like he wanted to pull away. There were small, painful cuts all over the Decepticon's frame, all in just the right place to cause pain without leaving traces. The kind of wounds Jazz inflicted in his heavier interrogations. 

“It wasn't me-” The Decepticon said, and he sounded tired. “Please, just stop-....” The Decepticon's words were lacking in energy, and Mirage could tell that the mech was approaching his breaking point. Anything Jazz would ask for, he would be given. Soon, all the bot would want was for the pain to stop. 

Jazz was still smiling, but it didn't have the soft edge that Mirage associated with his commander. No. This grin was pure lechery, and it made Jazz look more Decepticon than his ugly brown paintjob.  
Jazz grabbed the con's helm, and leaned in to press his lips to the broken ones of the Con. The mech let out a muffled protest and struggled weakly in his restraints, large sparks and oil leaking from his damaged frame. 

“I-...” He stammered as Jazz pulled back. A strand of energon still connected their lips. “I have cubes- high grade- I'll take your monitor duty for t-three vorns-” The Con sounded desperate, and Mirage morbidly wondered if this was the mech's first time under a forceful frame.

“Save it, scrapheap.” Jazz said, and he kicked against the mechanism that was keeping the Decepticon suspended in the air. The mech clattered down into a small heap, and Mirage watched as Jazz clicked open his interface panel. The Decepticon was struggling to get into a defensive position, and failing spectacularly. Jazz kicked the mech in the side as he moved his hand in quick strokes over his spike. “Stealin' from me was a big fraggin' mistake.” 

“I didn't-!” 

Jazz descended on top of the struggling mech, and flipped the mech on his back. He forced a knee in between the Decepticon's legs, and started breaking him open. The mech was rattling with stress, fighting to free his arms and legs from the chains tangling them. “I didn't! I really didn't!” The mech yelped in a panic as Jazz continued. “I'll cover it- my rations- all my rations for the next three cycles-!” 

Jazz ignored the mech, and started prying at the mech's panel for access. Mirage watched in complete silence, as he had been trained to do. He had seen Jazz torture prisoners before, and the threat of rape had been tossed out where Jazz thought it would make a difference. He had never actually done it, not even out of spite when the prisoner refused to spill the beans. 

Mirage knew what Jazz was like when he collected information, and this-... this was not it. The Con's vocaliser had gone up a few pitches during his pleading, and he sounded like his vents weren't working correctly. He was making absurd promises. He would work Jazz off with his hands, he would help him to gain rank, he would be his forever servant, he would do anythin! Anything except this.

“I ain't interested in anythin' but what I'm about to get right here.” Jazz said in reply. “Don't bother getting' all sobby- you're just gettin' what ya deserve, thief.” 

“It wasn't m-” The mech started, but then his panel was forced aside and the rest of his words turned into a startled scream. 

Mirage could tell from the hysterical tone that it was a sound made out of fright rather than pain. Jazz was stroking himself – his spike coloured the same ugly brown as the rest of his plating – and he poked a sharp claw into the other mech's spike-housing. The Decepticon was digging his hips into the ground below him as he tried to avoid Jazz's touches. 

“It wasn't me.” He said. The mech's voice was only a hush of static, and he was trying to wrestle out of Jazz's hold. Jazz's smile just widened, and he pushed a clawed thumb into the Decepticon's dry valve.

Mirage shook his head, and silently willed his commander to come back. Jazz did not want this - could not want this. Not the Jazz that Mirage knew. Jazz had pulled Mirage back from the chasms of apathy more than once, had shown him that his work was worth something. Being a spy was hard- risking his very spark for mecha that called him a traitor behind his back was harder.  
Jazz had understood, he had seen Mirage, he had seen his problems, and he had offered help. Different kinds of missions, psychological help, stress relief, and even the option to back out and take a less stressful place in the army for a few vorns.

For Mirage, watching Jazz fall into depravity was like watching a coveted crystal rot away from the inside. 

“Hold still-!” Jazz growled. He was trying to push his spike into the wounded Con as the mech kicked and babbled on the dirty floor. The Decepticon was giving the fight his all, even snapping his denta at Jazz's face, but it was of no use. Mirage could pinpoint the moment where Jazz sunk in, as his commander let out a relieved moan, and the mech under him choked on static. 

“Ooh yea.... oohh that's good...” Jazz moaned. 

He rolled his hips slowly, rocking against the Decepticon with a dimmed visor and his hands pressing the mech flat against the floor. The Decepticon had stopped babbling, but Mirage could clearly hear the mech's vocaliser kicking into static in time with Jazz' deeper thrusts. 

Mirage stayed to watch until the end. It didn't take all that long before Jazz stopped moving, and let out a long stretched grunt. The mech underneath him matched it with a sharp intake of breath and a full-body shiver that rattled the chains around his limbs. Jazz sighed, and his frame relaxed, looked utterly content laying over the softly shocking frame of the Decepticon. 

Mirage had seen that very same expression on his commander's face after he'd eaten one of Sideswipe's best homemade goodies, and seeing it here was invoking a spark-deep feeling of disgust. 

The mech on the ground shivered, and his intakes were shaky. Jazz moved until his spike slid out of the other's valve, and stroked a hand over the side of the Con's face in a mocking gesture of kindness.  
“Sh sh sh... 's over now.” Jazz said softly. “An' it won't be happenin' again, will it?” 

The other mech quickly shook his head, and Jazz tugged the mech's helm into a hard kiss. “Good mech. Now let's get these chains offa ya. Don't want anyone ta get the wrong idea, do we?” He chuckled.

Jazz started undoing the chains, and Mirage carefully backed out of the storage room before Jazz's sensors rebooted enough to detect him. He secured the captured images and video files in a double layered encryption, and started on his way out of the small Decepticon base. Prowl would want to be notified of this as quickly as possible. 

BREAK 

Prowl had a barely perceptible frown on his face, and his fingers were laced together tightly in front of his face. He had finished watching Mirage's recording. 

Mirage was still standing at attention in front of his desk, waiting to be dismissed. Prowl let him wait as his processor churned over the new data that the spy had brought home.

Of all the mecha that Prowl kept files on, he had not expected Jazz to fall so low. Prowl had expected the mech to overwork himself maybe, to alleviate guilt, or to tear into a Decepticon captive to work off frustration.... not this. 

By Autobot laws, Jazz should be recalled from his mission immediately, and given extensive therapy, if not a completely new relocation in the army. Once a mech went over the feared edge between act and reality, it was hard to pull them back into the relative normalcy of having comrades instead of just enemies. 

If the Autobots wanted to keep Jazz alive, and relatively unbroken in mind and body, they would have to pull him out of the Spec Ops immediately. 

Prowl would have done so, if not for the fact that the Autobot army needed Jazz. Jazz was a master at what he did, and his skills were honed by more experience than anyone had any hopes of pulling off. He had trained his agents well, but even the best of Jazz's agents could not replicate his success and tricks. Jazz kept track of morale, Jazz kept track of possible turncoats and Jazz kept track of the rumours. 

On top of that, Jazz was a million vorn-old mine of blackmail material. Jazz could worm his way into anything, anyplace, anytime, and he had been anywhere, anyplace and anytime. Prowl ran the calculations three separate times, but the results were the same. 

The Autobots needed Jazz – rapist or not.

Prowl offlined his optics, and started encrypting Mirage's footage in his processor. Prime wouldn't get to see it until the very end of the war, nor would anyone else.

“Mirage. I am putting you on a long term mission. Keep an eye out for Commander Jazz. It will not be in the records, per Spec Ops regulations, and I will send you an encrypted file with details after you have visited the medbay.” He said. “Destroy the file you sent me, and do not upload it to Teleraan. You will not share what you saw with anyone.” 

Mirage was a good soldier, and he simply nodded, his faceplate betraying no emotion. 

“You are excused.” Prowl said, and the spy saluted stiffly before leaving him alone in his office. 

Prowl offlined his optics, and allowed himself a few kliks of self inflection.

To Prowl, a world where everyone was equal was a dream that would never truly be realised. If the Autobots were to come anywhere near making it a reality, they needed Jazz. Unless the bot took his abuse to Autobots, Prowl would simply watch and wait, and at the end of the war, he would bring Jazz to the justice his crime deserved. 

Prowl cycled down his train of thought and picked up the next problem – neatly described on a scorched datapad. 

BREAK

Back in the small Decepticon base, Jazz finished copying a set of low-level security codes as he pretended to be on monitor duty. He had his pedes propped up on the keyboard, and he was sipping his ration – enriched with a few drops of high-grade, courtesy of his temporary lover.

His HUD pinged him with a message from said lover, and Jazz opened it with a grin already forming on his face.

::Last night was awesome- I'm still feeling it. 's making me hot. Wanna go for a repeat?:: 

Jazz grinned into his cube and finished his download. 

::Monitor duty ends in five breems, sweetspark. I'll be right there!::


End file.
